


Pon Farr

by aldonza



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Finger Sucking, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Mating Bond, Pharoga - Freeform, Pon Farr, Porn With Plot, Violent Sex, some background RC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21603277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldonza/pseuds/aldonza
Summary: In a nutshell: "Pharoga AU where the daroga is Vulcan (and Erik is an alien too)." As Reman runaway Erik struggles over whether or not to attend Captain Daaeya's wedding, his Vulcan companion, Niatek, falls ill with a condition known as "Pon Farr." Niatek must mate or die, and Erik is the only one who can assist. Star Trek AU.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/The Persian
Comments: 22
Kudos: 19





	Pon Farr

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this, other than the fact I saw an old tumblr prompt that went something like, "pharoga except the daroga is Vulcan." Wasn't sure if I wanted to do this since I don't know how many people would want to read a pharoga star trek nsfw AU, but then I thought, wait, there is someone who would want to read this- ME.
> 
> So I buckled down and did it before I lost the motivation! If you click on this, I hope this is worth reading to you too!
> 
> Some things going in:  
> * Both the Daroga and Erik are aliens in this. The Daroga's human side is still Persian. As for Erik, I chose that particular species because the makeup for it looks kind of like Lon Chaney's- but in this fic, I pretty much imagine Erik looking like... well, Erik. Definitely taking some liberties with his existence here.  
> * Did my best to do some vague backstory setup around poto and ST canon  
> * For those who don't know what Pon Farr is, you'll find out *winks*  
> * For Vulcans, touching hands is like kissing

Betazed is beautiful. This much, Erik must admit. But the more his eyes wander- far from the lush forests, green gardens, rushing falls- and his cloak sweeps- dust and fabric and white stone- the more he wants to leave. If he moves now, he can catch the next shuttle, preferably one that will implode on itself and chuck his ugly carcass into deep space, never to be found and far, far from _her_ homeland. But the wedding is in so few days, and she (and that damned lucky, fortunate, beloved boy) had been cruel enough to invite him. And he had been too weak to resist.

And so, Erik stands, awkwardly pacing in the marketplace, one tourist among many. He can see that most of the vendors are Betezoid, but the crowd itself is indistinguishable from the myriad audience of any shuttle station- if he shuts his eyes, he can almost pretend this is another station, affiliated with planet and people. Erik squeezes himself behind two Andorians, gloved hands wringing as he smooths the black against his frame- _too thin, too thin,_ he thinks, and yet not thin enough to disappear. He's one with the crowd, only a passerby, here for a wedding and gone the next day. Just like everyone else, he repeats to himself, though the words are hollow. And like all those other times in the open, he wishes he were human, some creature with a full nose and smooth skin, perhaps hair too. His mother was human, he remembers, or at least they said she was.

He shouldn't be here. He should be back on Romulus, waiting for his master's orders, the beatings, the bloodshed, and promises of how he'll fight and die and disappear into particles of dirt, never here and never remembered. 

"Excuse me," an Orion says, green skin passing.

It's a large crowd. It should be louder, like the shouts of a ship before it implodes. And he should have imploded with it. But he never did. And here he stands, neither human nor Reman- certainly not Romulan- with a face too grotesque for either. His father was Reman, or at least he assumes; it is the only explanation. Spindly fingers crawl over his mask, itself smooth black, and under it- the sunken eyes of his father, pitiful skin encasing a skull too human to pass for Reman, a missing nose the testament to his parents' unholy union. _Disgust, disgust, disgust,_ he thinks, recalling every cruel gaze and word scarred his way. 

"Erik."

It's not his name. He never had a name. Slaves do not need names. Monsters do not need names. 

"Erik?"

It was the name on some card he'd seen in passing. And for no reason at all, he'd thought, _Why not? Erik, Erik. Erik._

"Erik, are you still in possession of your auditory capacities?"

"I heard you the first time, you great booby!"

Erik bites his tongue, dizzied by the outburst and suddenly dizzy from the sun. Niatek looms beside him, raven brows forming the barest of creases as the Vulcan tilts his head. Those green eyes scan him up and down, alight with some deep wisdom no doubt locked away. They are a human green, made all the more stunning by his bronze skin, telltale signs of the Vulcan's human heritage ("My grandfather," Niatek had once said. "We are not so unlike, you and I."). And it is that human quarter, Erik suspects, that makes Niatek so nosy. No Vulcan would be so content sticking their heads where they don't belong. Of course, Niatek is the only Vulcan he knows, every bit as gentle and logical as Erik had come to expect.

Niatek is not Romulan. He never will be.

("You have yet to explain to me what a 'booby' is," Niatek had once said. Now he does not ask.)

"There is no need to hide your face," the Vulcan says, raising a hand to touch the mask and stopping just before his fingers touch Erik's. "I have informed you- there is low probability you will attract attention."

Snorting (or rather, coughing, without a nose), Erik turns. "Low probability still implies probability."

Thanks to Niatek's damned probability, Erik lived long enough to meet Captain Daaeya. The Vulcan had saved him from that imploding ship, himself on the run from his own demons. They'd wandered together, Niatek's stoic face as unreadable on day one thousand as it was on day one. Black market to black market, always just under the Federation's radar. Until Daaeya- _Christine_ had come along, offered asylum- pity, perhaps- friendship- "Christine is my nickname. Doesn't it have a nice Earthly ring?"- and perhaps something more- she'd told him his voice was beautiful, their hands on the harp. 

"Are you still _emotional_ about Captain Daaeya?"

"Yes," Erik says dryly, "not all of us are blessed with logic in our veins, Niatek."

"It was most illogical to pursue her in the first place."

"Oh shut up. What would you know."

Niatek's gaze lingers on him, a flicker of- anger?- filtering through those eyes. "I know enough, Erik. From my observations, I can conclude your obsession stems from nothing and even had your romance succeeded, your volatile nature would have destroyed her with lies and violence. You are an insipid excuse of a Reman."

Teeth grinding, Erik jabs a finger into the Vulcan's chest, momentarily stunned by how heated it is below the fabric of his robe. "Say that to me again and I won't hesitate to destroy _you_ here. Do not forget who stands before you!"

"Who then?" The Vulcan lunges, startling Erik into jumping back. "Who then stands before me!? Do you have the answer!?"

The rage is clear in Niatek's face now, that composure broken for the very first time, and anger- emotion- coursing through his very blood. _He's unwell_ , Erik realizes, _he's not well._ And any shock and rage is replaced with a cold fear. Erik ventures forward.

"Niatek-"

And the Vulcan collapses, falling straight into the Reman's arms.

* * *

Erik's hands have always been cold. And against his bare palms, Niatek's fever positively burns. In a panic, he'd dragged the Vulcan away from the crowd, convinced that air would do his... companion well. Now they were holed in some cavern by the falls, Erik roaming his hands about the Vulcan's side, that heart beating far too fast for comfort. It occurs to him then that he should call for a doctor. Erik groans, taken by an urge to slap himself; too long they'd wandered from the law. They did not have to administer their own remedies now. They had asylum. 

"Who's the great booby now?" he muttered, and stopping to give himself a cold chuckle, wrests Niatek's arm over his shoulder. "I'll get a medic back at the hostel."

As he prepares to move, he hears the Vulcan speak, thick and low, _"No."_

Relief colors Erik's vision. Niatek is alive, well enough to argue with him as always. Then the sheer lack of logic in that statement hits him. "What do you mean, 'no'? You had an _emotional_ breakdown and fainted! Unless that's now standard fare for Vulcans?"

Niatek falls from his grip and when Erik moves to catch him, the Vulcan cups his masked face instead. His eyes are wild, a jungle of green so feral that Erik wonders for a moment if he's staring at a stranger. 

"No," the Vulcan says, voice dropping an octave as he struggles to speak, "I need a Vulcan healer. Outsiders are... not privy to this."

"Then what is 'this'?" Erik frowns behind the mask. Niatek looks away.

Irked, Erik puts his hands against the Vulcan's own, angrily twisting their digits together. "Ah, so when I keep secrets, it's your solemn duty to intervene. And now that the tables have turned, I'm forbidden from questioning you? How very _fair_ of you, Niatek. Sounds like quite the arrangement to me."

Niatek shuts his eyes, lids squeezing as he breathes in and out. Fingers twitch under Erik's own. "Erik, please... I- this is- we are not proud of this."

"Out with it!"

"Pon Farr."

Niatek gulps and Erik's grip slacks, confused by what the Vulcan has said. When the Vulcan opens his eyes again, Erik feels as if their green has swallowed him whole.

"It strikes me every seven years," Niatek says, enunciating every word, speech slurring, "the throes of fever may drive me mad and within eight days... I shall die."

"Then what's the remedy!?"

The Vulcan shakes his head. "Meditation, but I cannot now, not in this... emotional state."

"There must be a way, you idiot," Erik hisses, "you cannot die in the middle of de Chagny's wedding!"

Niatek chuckles, the noise so jarring that it takes Erik a good moment to realize that the Vulcan is laughing. _It's serious!_ he thinks, _Niatek will die here!_ Then he'll have to drag the Vulcan back to the city, customs be damned. He cannot let Niatek die here, cannot-

"Unless I mate with my bonded. Or worse."

Niatek trails off, eyes glazing over as Erik wipes the sweat from his brow. 

"Where is your bondmate now?" the Reman asks, "if you knew this would happen, you should have let her know, you imbecile-"

"Dead." Niatek shudders. 

Erik feels his fingers, once more aware of how cold his skin is against the Vulcan's. Something twists within him, a heavy leaden feeling not unlike a dull knife. "You never told me..."

 _You've known me for seven years, and you've never told me._ But why would he? Erik has been clear that Niatek is not his friend, that someone like him is not fit for companionship. 

"So you thought it better to suffer alone?" he says, "Niatek, that's hardly logical at all."

But there is no quip. Niatek only nods. "I know."

"So what was the last option? What could be worse than mating?"

Again, those eyes flash- bloodthirsty, feral, a thousand years of restraint coming undone- and Niatek digs his hands into that mask, denting the material as he says, "I could kill. It would satiate my lust."

Erik hears a gulp. Perhaps it is Niatek's, perhaps his own. 

"I can't very well let you kill anyone on Christine's home planet," he admonishes, remembering the Vulcan's own words a hundred times over ("I will not allow it, Erik," "You will not kill," "I cannot let you kill") and scoffing at the irony of how the cards of fate have turned. "But I can't let you die either. No doubt I'll be accused of murder at the wedding if I do."

Erik removes his hands and Niatek slumps forward, knuckles digging into the dirt as he draws another harsh breath, body overtaken with fevered trembles. And the truth is- a feeling Erik has not had since childhood, perhaps before- Erik is terrified. Of what is to come, of losing Niatek, of the very fact that the Vulcan may hate him and turn away once it ends. He swallows that fear and says, with as much confidence as he can:

"You will hate me, Niatek. I will repulse you for years to come. But it's come to this and because I want you to live, I have something very selfish to demand."

Niatek looks up, and as blazing green meets shaking gold, Erik rasps, _"Take me."_

He hears nothing but the Vulcan's echoed breaths and the splash of waterfall outside. For a chilling moment, Erik wonders if Niatek would rather die than touch his excuse of a body. _I would not blame him,_ he thinks, _but we do have a wedding to attend._ He's about to make his case again when the Vulcan surges at him. Erik falls, Niatek upon him, arms circled tight and moaning aloud. He does not remember Niatek being this heavy, but the heat is unbearable, like fire and lightning separated only by skin and cloth.

Niatek tears his cloak away, ripping apart Erik's layers like paper and leaf. And before Erik has even processed what the Vulcan's done, he cries out, caught off guard by Niatek's teeth in his collarbone. The Vulcan bites with a fervor, teeth grazing blood and mouth bruising skin as he presses against Erik's chest. The Reman tries to touch his head, but Niatek catches his wrist, and forcing that hand back, the Vulcan slams Erik on his side. Feeling the bone of that wrist squeeze and break, Erik gasps when a new sensation enters from behind.

Niatek thrusts into him, his member hard as molten rock. Erik does not know if his own _entry_ is tight, but Niatek pierces him with such a zeal that he's sure any barriers of flesh have come undone. _Use lubricant, you great booby!_ he thinks rather foolishly. Then again, Niatek is so wet that no applicant is needed. The Vulcan's teeth scrape his neck, curling against him as if desperate to encase his entire organ with Erik's body. Erik has never felt small, but there in Niatek's arms, trapped and crushed, he cannot help but feeling, for once, as thin as his skeletal body appears.

 _Since when were you so big!_ he wants to shout, but all Erik does _is_ shout. He feels the blood and semen pool, gather, and rush behind. And the sensation of Niatek within him is enough to blind him with pain, every nerve and muscle begging for respite. But he cannot give respite now. And whatever he feels, he knows it is tenfold for Niatek. 

Erik has imagined lovemaking before. It is warm and loving and a union of souls. Perhaps once upon a time, he'd ventured to think Christine- but no, the likes of him are not meant for such a thing. He's sterile anyway. Not like that human boy, her husband-to-be. And as- he cries out, Niatek again pressing rapidly behind him- as he clings onto the ground for dear life, Erik wonders if perhaps it's the rest of the universe that's mistaken. Perhaps lovemaking is not meant to be enjoyed. This is unlike anything he's felt before, a pain so fiery he almost wishes he were dead, and yet- Erik does not want to die. Some base part of him wants to live on so he can experience more of what Niatek can give.

 _I like this!_ he realizes. Of course he likes this. Of course someone like him would enjoy this. Erik laughs but it turns into a pained cry when Niatek climbs atop his back, pinning him to the ground and crushing limbs as he forces the Reman down. Then Niatek cries aloud, releasing Erik at last. Disoriented, Erik fights to move his hand, the pressure on it gone. Niatek grabs it again, and-

 _The memories are not his._ Niatek places Erik's fingers in his mouth, sucking hard on each long digit. He chews and licks until Erik groans, overcome with a desire to shove his hand down the Vulcan's throat. _There is a boy, his ears curved to a slight point. His eyes are green._ Niatek releases that hand, webbed with saliva. He descends, flipping Erik again- _a Vulcan woman, their fingers pressed together_ \- and catching his other hand with a sharp bite. As Niatek sucks on his fingers, Erik arches his back, burning from a desire that is not his. _There is a Reman in a mask. He approaches_. _It is what he's always wanted._

An array of emotions- some foreign, some familiar- assault Erik, his mind split by an ache as Niatek rips the mask away. Memories fly past, like a kaleidoscope of scents and visions, as Niatek grinds against him. The Vulcan's fingers are upon his head- melding, melding- as Erik bobs in unison with Niatek entering him, again and again while Erik's head collides with the stone behind. He can no longer think. And he knows that skill left Niatek long ago. Enveloped in heat, Erik feels Niatek's hot breath, his angry bites, the strength of Vulcan muscle as it grinds his bony body to dust and blood.

"Nia- Niatek," he manages to strain out.

But Niatek is no longer in control, has lost control long ago. The Vulcan does not know him as Erik now, only as the mate he needs. _Am I what you need?_ Nails drag along the Reman's back, cutting beneath bruised ribs as Niatek tears into flesh for dear respite. Erik moans, unsure if he still has the strength to shout, when Niatek roughly parts his legs and dives down. _The voice is a hymn, ethereal, beautiful, Niatek thinks_. Erik senses Niatek's desire, can feel it throbbing through his veins, and he reciprocates in the only way he's capable- he moans, voice cracking as Niatek's mouth closes over his untouched member. It's an eternity before the Vulcan relents, dragging Erik down like a marionette- itself tangled in too many strings to count- and forcing his own erection into the Reman's mouth. 

_Erik laughs at him, and it takes all of Niatek's self-control to hold a smile back._ Thin lips part, allowing the Vulcan in. _Do you want me, Niatek? I've never been wanted,_ Erik thinks as he chokes on semen and sweat. _I want you,_ is what he senses, _I have never wanted anything as much as I want you_. He coughs when Niatek pulls out, gasping for air, mind ablaze with a pain that is not his when the Vulcan again bites into his palm. _Niatek, you're beautiful. I've always been jealous._ He feels blood spring out- from fingers and nails and flesh- and then Niatek grips his shoulders, hard enough to crunch through bone- _"They say you have three times the strength of a human man. Is that true?" Erik once asked him_ \- and the Vulcan is penetrating him once more. 

Erik cries out with the Vulcan's snarls, in tandem with the fever now in his blood, pain and desire rolled into one. The Vulcan is everywhere, inside him, on his neck, within his skull, between his ribs, below his lips- and Erik tastes blood, mouth cracked and puffed from the aggression before- and still Niatek is unafraid to assault his face. _Does this hold no disgust for you?_ Erik thinks blindly as Niatek tears at the corner of his mouth. The Vulcan humps him on, their bodies near fused by sweat, Erik's bony back caught in the tangles of hair on Niatek's sculpted chest.

Niatek clutches him, grabs him, clings- _Erik is an anchor_ \- and the walls of their cavern shake, rock, dust, and blood lost in the smell of sweat and pheromones unleashed. Erik is pulled and yanked, crushed and taken- front and back and up and down- and consumed until consciousness leaves and returns and leaves again. And in that struggle to stay awake- _why stay awake? For Niatek, he thinks, for Niatek_ \- he sings, off-key and pained as continuous as one can get as the Vulcan takes him until there is nothing left.

* * *

Niatek awakes to the sound of rushing falls and shallow breaths, the thick odor of blood in the air. His mouth is dry and his body aches, every muscle and joint sore to the bone. Restraining a groan, he sits up, dizzied by a dose of air and sunlight streaming in. He steadies his side, heartbeat slowed with in. There is a slight chill weighing upon his body, as if he's just recovered from some illness. And then it comes back to him- Erik running into the marketplace, their argument, and then... pon farr.

Paling, the Vulcan inspects himself, his skin exposed and shining with sweat. He is completely bare. From the corner of his eye, he sees his robes, callously tossed at the cavern's edge. _Pon farr,_ he thinks. It is by no miracle that he's escaped its blood fever. Niatek gulps, trying to quell the emotion threatening to rise. He turns his head, slowly, deliberately, to see the Reman's black mask, bent and discarded on the blood-stained ground. And what remains of Erik lies still, curled across from where Niatek sits. 

"Erik!" he says, "Erik, do you live?"

The Vulcan rushes to him, eyes widening at the sight of what Erik has become. The unmasked face is unmoving, eyes shut tight and mottled with swelling bruises, lips stained with dried blood and half-bleeding cuts. Criss-crossing trails of abrasions and marks color his neck and collar, chest damaged by misshapen dents and Niatek's own hand prints. Erik is also bare, only bits of tattered cloth sticking to his wounded skin- _in his frenzy, Niatek had ripped off his layers_ \- and the Vulcan can see, clear as day, every bite-mark and contusion upon his torso and limbs. And there is blood pooling beneath him, so much blood that he'd almost mistook it for shadow.

"Erik," he whispers, gathering that skull of a head into his arms, the thin body dragging along. There's blood along Erik's crown, bits of debris still sticking to the wound. "Erik."

His hands are the worst, fingers bent every which way, cuticles and nails near-chewed off. Niatek holds a broken wrist, and as he sees the struggling rise and fall of the Reman's chest, allows his own head to sink into the crook of Erik's neck. "Erik... I-"

There is no one here to see. And even had there been, Niatek cannot bring himself to care. He weeps, silent and wretched as he breaks the Vulcan vow. 

_"Emotion isn't your strong suit."_

Niatek stops, lifting his head enough to see Erik's half-hooded eyes, as vibrant and golden as he knew. Dumbstruck, Niatek only looks at him, tears still slipping out when Erik speaks, hoarse, through a voice a pitiful shadow of what it once was: "I'm alive, you great booby... ah... not that you were very helpful."

"Erik, did I attack you?"

The Reman shakes his head. Then he shrugs, wincing. "I offered."

"Why? I cannot see the logic behind-"

"Because," Erik rasps, lips twisting into a distorted smile, _"I am your friend."_

Niatek cradles him close, again fighting to withhold the emotion rising within. "Thank you... but you must understand, we are... bonded now."

"Oh? That's what it's called?" Erik laughs, the chuckle turning into a cough of pain. "Can you handle this, Niatek? An eternity of this face?"

"Do not speak. It will only exacerbate your injuries." Niatek climbs to his feet, Erik's head on his shoulder and legs on his arms, no doubt broken bones shifting with each move. "The more logical question, Erik, is- can _you_ handle this every seven years?"

Erik shuts his eyes. "I shall have to." He considers. "And if not for the 'fucked until I can no longer walk' part, it's not so bad."

"Your humor does not resonate."

Erik chuckles again, and as far as Niatek can tell, is on the verge of passing out. He will replace their clothes and bring the Reman back to the hostel. This time, they will need a medic. Erik may prefer it if Captain Daaeya did not see him in such a state, but some curious part of Niatek does wonder how she would react. In her voice, he can already hear: _"Erik, who did this to you!?" "What happened?" "Niatek, when did this happen?" "Doctor Giry, come here, come here now!"_ Erik would enjoy that attention, he knows, but another part of his mind- one that is now no doubt Erik's- says the Reman would only respond, "I heard Captain Carlotta singing and look what it's done to me."

Erik faints in his arms, and hastily throwing on both their cloaks, Niatek steps out. For now, Pon Farr has passed, his mate still lives, and the Daaya-de Chagny wedding has yet to pass. 

**Author's Note:**

> And that's that! Feel free to leave comments/kudos!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Don't know if I'll ever write for this universe again, but it was fun to plot out. Would be wild if Erik walked into the wedding looking that beat-up. At first, Raoul was the captain and Christine was someone aboard his ship, but I scratched that idea as soon as it came- we stan Captain Christine in these parts!
> 
> Not really important, but some notes that I used to flesh out the "lore" of this smut phic:  
> * Remans are an expendable slave species to the Romulans (an antagonist species in the Star Trek serials)  
> * Vulcan mindmelds are a form of intimacy  
> * Outwardly, Betezoids are indistinguishable from humans (except for completely black eyes)  
> * Rookheeya was still Nadir's first wife in this


End file.
